


All In The Game

by QuillMind



Series: Clandestine [6]
Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Cunnilingus, F/M, Gambling, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Smut, casino - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7944712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillMind/pseuds/QuillMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Typically, when people gamble, they play to win.  But sometimes, particularly when a certain tall, sleepy-eyed agent is concerned, losing can be... not bad at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All In The Game

Casinos were a fascinating place for Fukumoto.  Establishments made garishly bright with lights and colours, all day ringing out their own music of the shuffling of cards, spinning roulette wheels, and enthralled cheers and shouts for the moments when someone hit a great hand.  It was enough to draw in thousands of people every day with the hope against all logic and experience that today might be the day when they would beat the odds.  And the ones that went through the agonizing losses were often the ones that still came back with the most fervor. 

You were not one of these people.  You were content to do your job, taking orders and serving drinks, smiling and gently deflecting rowdy customers' advances with the satisfaction that they would either have their wallets cleaned out by the end of the night or be thrown out for their behaviour, or both. 

Fukumoto never behaved in an inappropriate way, though.  He played carefully and quietly, never raising his voice when he won or lost, even though you had observed him win many high-stakes bets during his visits.  He had heavy eyelids that made him look perpetually bored or sleepy, giving him an impenetrable poker face which served him well at table games.  Even his losses, which could sometimes involve a sizeable amount, did not mean much as he often recovered to at least break even, or turn the tables to leave with a decent payoff by closing time.  He would have a few drinks, but as far as you could tell, he never became drunk or even a little tipsy, another example of his incredible self-control. 

You liked it when he came to the casino.  He was polite and well-mannered, breaking his neutral expression to give you and other female staff a small smile when eye contact was made.  He was also a mystery; you never once saw him come or leave with a woman, and he was never heard speaking about himself.  Besides that name, there was very little you knew about him. 

It happened one night when a high-stakes baccarat game had concluded in one of the private rooms.  Fukumoto had won, and was relaxing in his chair after the other players had left, grumbling to themselves.  A thin cloud of smoke veiled the top of the ceiling as evidence of the past several hours of heated play.  The door was closed to keep out the clamour of the casino floor. 

"Looks like you cleaned house again," you said lightly, gathering empty glasses from the table and stacking them on a tray.  "You've got quite the winning streak going."

Fukumoto took a leisurely drag on his cigarette, then blew out his contribution to the upper haze.  "Doesn't mean it'll continue," he stated simply.  "Luck can change at any moment." 

You chuckled mildly.  "So should you get out now while you're still ahead?" 

"Where would the thrill be in that?"  The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly while his eyes remained blasé. 

Having finished collecting the glasses, you set the tray on the room's small bar counter.  Seeing Fukumoto's cigarette was coming to an end, you passed him a large crystal ashtray, which he accepted with a thank you before stubbing the butt into the bowl. 

Once the cigarette was extinguished, you took back the ashtray.  "I didn't quite peg you as a thrill-seeker," you said, smiling and keeping your tone playful so that he would not mistake you as mocking him. 

"The right temptation can bring any man to his knees.  It never ceases to amaze me to see how quickly people's faces change from dizzying heights of triumph to the abysmal depths of defeat; the two sides of the same coin."  Off of your bemused expression, he sipped the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table.  "Have you ever experienced that?" 

You began wiping down the table's edge with a clean cloth.  "No--I've never gambled in my life." 

Now it was Fukumoto's turn to be bemused.  "Never?  Not even once despite working in a casino?" 

"It's because I work in a casino that I know not to.  The game is rigged, but you cannot lose if you do not play." 

"But you also need to play if you want to win." 

You met Fukumoto's eyes, and even though he had been just conversationally argumentative, you took it seriously.  "Some people just aren't meant to win."  If it were up to you, you would not be working in a casino, this monument to vice, tolerating the occasional fondling from a grabby customer or arrogant manager, watching people play with money like it was nothing while you and others remained at their beck and call.  You then giggled and became the picture of cheerful customer service again.  "Oh, but please excuse me!  Of course, it's different here at the Golden Peony!  Winners blossom here every night!" 

Fukumoto wasn't moved by your rehearsed pitch, but studied you for some time.  You were starting to wonder if you had upset him when he finally spoke again.  "Do you want to feel it?" 

Your heart skipped a beat at the possible connotations of that question.  "What?"

"The thrill of gambling--would you like to see what it feels like?" 

 _Oh._   "How would you arrange that?" 

Fukumoto picked up the deck of cards from the baccarat game.  He shuffled them expertly, then cut them and placed the deck face down on the table between them.  "Very simple.  One card, high draw wins.  No trickery, no cheating." 

You set the cloth down off to the side and leaned forward on the table.  You looked at the cards, filled with potential for doom and celebration, and bit your lip.  "What are the stakes?" 

"If you win, you get this."  Fukumoto placed a baccarat plaque on the table and your eyes widened--if cashed out, the plaque would give you enough money to live comfortably for the rest of the year. 

"And what if you win?" 

"I get a free drink." 

You blinked at him in disbelief.  A single drink?  "That's it?" 

He raised his palms.  "That's it," he repeated. 

You considered this.  Fukumoto did not seem the type to trick or lie to you, but appearances were a fickle thing.  As appealing as the bait was, you didn't hold out any hope of actually getting the plaque even if you did win--he would probably take it back, saying that he was joking.  You had heard of friends experiencing similar things.  At the very worst, you had to sneak by a free drink, which was not difficult, and with only a single hand to play, this would not take long. 

"Fine, I accept."  You sat in the chair and folded your arms over the table. 

Fukumoto took the top eight cards and put them on the bottom to assuage any doubts of foul play.  He slid the top card across the table to you, and the next one for himself. 

Your eyes flickered to Fukumoto's, but he gave away nothing in his demeanor, nor had he bothered to look at his card.  You turned your card over.  "Jack of clubs."

Completely neutral, Fukumoto flipped his.  "Ace of diamonds." 

You sighed, not at all surprised.  "Looks like I was right, your winning streak's still going strong."  With a tired smile, you got up from your seat and came around to his side to take his empty glass.  "What would you like to drink?" 

Fukumoto's hand snatched yours before it touched the tumbler.  He was suddenly on his feet, looking down at you with his considerable height, his face intimately close. 

"You." 

He swiftly shoved you down on top of the table, catching your back at the last second so that you didn't land hard on the surface.  With a deftness beyond most people, he then hiked up the skirt of your qipao, pulled your underwear aside and began tonguing you where you were most sensitive. 

You gasped in shock, initially unable to comprehend what was happening, then as Fukumoto's mouth kissed and sucked all around your exposed folds and sent shockwaves into your brain, realization set in. 

"Wha--wait, please--" 

"Hmm?" Fukumoto hummed against you entrance, making you shiver from the vibration. 

You tried to hold your head up to see him, but your body preferred to concentrate on its desire, and you fell back, panting.  "What... what are you doing..."

"Collecting on our bet," he replied, dragging the flat of his tongue all the way up your pussy.  "You lost, remember?"

"We, we can't," you stammered, your face becoming uncomfortably hot, "someone might come--aah!"  You cut yourself off at the spike of pleasure felt when Fukumoto's tongue found your clit and roamed circles around it. 

"If anyone's coming, it's you," Fukumoto murmured into your thighs.  "You taste so good."  And with that, he lifted your hips to pull your panties down and off of your body, letting them fall somewhere on the floor, forgotten.  His hand found the knot button closures on the side of your qipao and undid the next two, opening up the slit of the dress even further and allowing him to feel all along the bare skin of your legs.  With his arms curled around your thighs, he resumed, drinking you up while coaxing you to well up with more moisture in a glorious cycle.  At first he varied his speed and pressure, learning the specifics of your needs, what made you squirm and cry out the most, and the instant he understood, he went to work. 

You clamped your hand over your mouth and moaned into it.  Your chest was tight against the fitted qipao as you breathed heavy and hard, nipples straining against the silk brocade.  You turned your head from side to side as if trying to find some sort of salvation, some life preserver to latch onto to keep from being swept away in this storm of elation, but all that you saw was the dark green felt of the table. 

"F--Fukumoto... Please..."

"Please what?" he asked casually, his words muffled by the slick and scandalous noises of his tongue and your pussy coming together.  "Please stop, or please keep going?"

You squeezed your eyes shut and whined, not knowing the answer.  Or was it both?  Even the most minute of Fukumoto's touches set every last one of your nerves on fire, and it terrified you.  If this was how you felt now, what would it be like when you came? 

He relented for a moment, moving to your outer folds where it was not as reactive.  His face pulled away just enough to see your pussy, shining and swollen and aching for attention.  "You're practically overflowing," he said, in that easygoing voice that teetered just on the edge of sounding lewd.  "I need to keep drinking or else you'll make a mess of the table." 

How was it that he could look and sound so calm while you were a helpless wreck?  This was probably just a game to him.  He was just toying with you--there was no way a man like him could desire someone like you. 

That line of thought made you sad, but then the increasing tension and heat in your lower body snatched your attention back, as you knew you were making your final ascent.  You jammed your knuckles in your mouth and bit down, flushing with embarrassment at the juicy sounds you could hear from where Fukumoto was while simultaneously arching your back and rolling your hips forward.  When your orgasm happened, your hand fell from your mouth and you cried out, unrestrained and bucking like a wild animal, not noticing your thighs had clamped around his head.  You were still coming, lost in sobbing spasms, when he stood up and gently lowered your legs, luxuriously licking your wetness from his lips.  From blurry eyes, you saw him lean down and caress your cheek with alarming tenderness. 

"Thank you for the drink," he said, kissing you lightly.  You tasted something, strong and musky, and you blushed when you realized it was yourself.  Scooping you into his arms, he pulled you up into a sitting position and smoothed your clothes out, bringing a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe away your tears. 

"So, how did it feel to play the game?"

Your brow knitted together as it took you a second to recall what he was talking about.  Once you finally caught your breath, you cleared your throat and looked away.  "Well, although I lost, I guess it wasn't too bad." 

Fukumoto smiled, then placed something in your hand.  You looked down.  The baccarat plaque. 

"Wait, no," you said, confused, "why are you giving me this?" 

"Because," Fukumoto said, his voice going low and quiet, "I lost, too."  You were about to ask him what he meant when he parted your legs enough to wedge himself between them.  "Remember what I said?  The right temptation can bring any man to his knees.  I was gambling every night by coming here, seeing if I could resist you.  But..."  Your breath hitched as you felt his erection through his pants, prodding against your center. 

"You defeated me." 

Your lips parted as you stared at him.  You saw desire.  He kissed you again, longer this time and with an unmistakable sense of hunger.  His cock twitched, hopeful for attention.

"I'd like to keep playing this game with you," Fukumoto said. 

"I agree," you breathed, trying to contain your excitement, "but preferably somewhere where we don't have to worry about interruptions.  Plus I'm still working for another two hours."  Licking your lips, you let a bit of boldness in and teased, "Are you able to wait for that long?" 

"Good gamblers excel at patience.  I can go shopping for a bit, then pick you up when it's time.  I'll cook dinner for us."

You giggled.  "You wouldn't be a better cook than I am."

He smirked at you.  "Want to bet?"

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist inserting that line from _The Wire._ :p 
> 
> Fukumoto might be the most challenging one to write of them all--he's such a chameleon, I feel like, and his quiet, relatively inexpressive nature make it hard to know what he might be thinking. One of the key differences here was to not write him as all that smug or sly, since he's described as sort of spaced out and _tennen_ \--I hope that comes across?


End file.
